I might need singing lessons....
I am sure you all have noticed that I haven't been blogging. It has made me sad to even think of writing anything, because Granny isn't here to listen (she went blind about ten years ago, so I read to her) and approve the post. So, I decided to change the name of my blog, and dedicate it to her.
I haven't completely settled on the new name, but the first thing that came to mind was "I might need singing lessons..." As children, our parents, granted some of our parents were always honest, would tell us we were great at everything. No matter if we couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, or had absolutely no rhythm, they would tell us we were great singers/dancers. For most of us, there came a point in time when we realized, either because someone was honest with us, or we had an embarrassing moment of self realization, that we weren't "great" at everything. In that moment, we begin to realize our limitations, and I think this is when self doubt began to settle upon our psyche.
Of course, if you watch such shows as American Idol, America's Got Talent, or The Voice, you realize that there are masses of people whose parents or friends have not been completely honest with them about their "limitations." In fact, I have a good friend from law school who has absolutely no rhythm. One day she was talking about what a great dancer she was, and we all were shocked. Someone said, "look, you have no rhythm." She proceeded to tell us how her Mom said she was a great dancer, and that she was even on the dance team in the eighth grade. After watching the eighth grade dance team video, we assured her they were the "Bad News Bears" of the "dance" world.
I began playing the guitar when I was five years old. I remember that my grandfather passed away about a month before my fifth birthday. I am not sure if I had been begging for a guitar, but for that birthday my parents gave me one. Granny's friend taught lessons, and she agreed to teach me. Granny sang with her friend's bluegrass group, and sometimes they would take me along to their "gigs". The teacher also had all her students play at nursing homes, I think I was a hit on the nursing home circuit. Anyway, my tour abruptly ended after my first appearance in church, when I did an encore of Dolly Parton's "Nine to Five." In fact, I think that incident was the beginning of the end of my early guitar years.
Then in elementary school I learned to play the alto saxophone at school. One day the teacher showed us where the "C" note was on the piano. When I got to Granny's that afternoon (I stayed with her everyday after school), I went into the living room and started digging through my Aunt P's old piano books. I found a beginner book with a left hand side and a right hand side. Unfortunately the "left hand side" was missing. But I used the right hand side and began teaching myself to play. Once Granny realized that I could actually play and pick out songs with my right hand, she insisted that I take lessons in order for my left hand could catch up. I then began a two year venture into playing the piano. I say venture because I gave the teacher a really hard time - she had to bargain with me to stay on the "track." I would skip around the book and learn only the songs I liked.
Anyway, then in high school I began playing the guitar again, and even took it along to college. Now, the beauty of going to a liberal arts college is that I was able to take classical guitar, and piano - along with a lamp shade design class. And to think all of that counted towards my diploma is crazy. I kept telling Granny that I was going to take some voice lessons, but it never happened. Well, one weekend all the girls in the family were down at the beach, and I was playing the guitar for our "sing-a-long", when Granny quipped, "she sure has gotten pretty good on that guitar, but she said she was going to take singing lessons."
Not long after this incident Granny asked me to be the entertainment for a birthday party at a local nursing home. I asked her why she wanted me to entertain if I couldn't sing, she didn't miss a beat and said, "your the best we can get." Then several months later she asked me to sing at her church. Mom and Dad wouldn't even go that morning, and even now I can see Granny sitting in the pew nervously looking at me. I am laughing and crying just thinking about it. I promise you she held her breath during the entire song.
I do have a point to all of this rambling, and it is this: I think too many of us live with too much self doubt. Granny knew that I realized I can't carry a tune. She was totally joking with me because she knew that I love to play and sing and am not giving it up. She watched me all those years teach myself to play those instruments, even though I knew I was not that good at any of them. Her kidding was only because she knew I loved it and would keep going!
But at the same time, I was giving in to self doubt in so many other areas of life. I had teachers telling me that I was a horrid writer, and I wanted to write more than anything. Finally, I had an English teacher that made us write a letter to all our old teachers who put self doubt in our heads. It was a freeing moment for me. I knew that I needed singing lessons, but I sang anyway, so why shouldn't I write? I can remember telling this one teacher that although she didn't think I could write, I loved it and I was going to write anyway.
I encourage all of you to journal a letter to all of those who have put self doubt in your head. You may need lessons, but if it makes you happy, then so be it because you only live once. So, until the mood strikes me to change - this blog will be "I might need singing lessons..."
I haven't completely settled on the new name, but the first thing that came to mind was "I might need singing lessons..." As children, our parents, granted some of our parents were always honest, would tell us we were great at everything. No matter if we couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, or had absolutely no rhythm, they would tell us we were great singers/dancers. For most of us, there came a point in time when we realized, either because someone was honest with us, or we had an embarrassing moment of self realization, that we weren't "great" at everything. In that moment, we begin to realize our limitations, and I think this is when self doubt began to settle upon our psyche.
Of course, if you watch such shows as American Idol, America's Got Talent, or The Voice, you realize that there are masses of people whose parents or friends have not been completely honest with them about their "limitations." In fact, I have a good friend from law school who has absolutely no rhythm. One day she was talking about what a great dancer she was, and we all were shocked. Someone said, "look, you have no rhythm." She proceeded to tell us how her Mom said she was a great dancer, and that she was even on the dance team in the eighth grade. After watching the eighth grade dance team video, we assured her they were the "Bad News Bears" of the "dance" world.
I began playing the guitar when I was five years old. I remember that my grandfather passed away about a month before my fifth birthday. I am not sure if I had been begging for a guitar, but for that birthday my parents gave me one. Granny's friend taught lessons, and she agreed to teach me. Granny sang with her friend's bluegrass group, and sometimes they would take me along to their "gigs". The teacher also had all her students play at nursing homes, I think I was a hit on the nursing home circuit. Anyway, my tour abruptly ended after my first appearance in church, when I did an encore of Dolly Parton's "Nine to Five." In fact, I think that incident was the beginning of the end of my early guitar years.
Then in elementary school I learned to play the alto saxophone at school. One day the teacher showed us where the "C" note was on the piano. When I got to Granny's that afternoon (I stayed with her everyday after school), I went into the living room and started digging through my Aunt P's old piano books. I found a beginner book with a left hand side and a right hand side. Unfortunately the "left hand side" was missing. But I used the right hand side and began teaching myself to play. Once Granny realized that I could actually play and pick out songs with my right hand, she insisted that I take lessons in order for my left hand could catch up. I then began a two year venture into playing the piano. I say venture because I gave the teacher a really hard time - she had to bargain with me to stay on the "track." I would skip around the book and learn only the songs I liked.
Anyway, then in high school I began playing the guitar again, and even took it along to college. Now, the beauty of going to a liberal arts college is that I was able to take classical guitar, and piano - along with a lamp shade design class. And to think all of that counted towards my diploma is crazy. I kept telling Granny that I was going to take some voice lessons, but it never happened. Well, one weekend all the girls in the family were down at the beach, and I was playing the guitar for our "sing-a-long", when Granny quipped, "she sure has gotten pretty good on that guitar, but she said she was going to take singing lessons."
Not long after this incident Granny asked me to be the entertainment for a birthday party at a local nursing home. I asked her why she wanted me to entertain if I couldn't sing, she didn't miss a beat and said, "your the best we can get." Then several months later she asked me to sing at her church. Mom and Dad wouldn't even go that morning, and even now I can see Granny sitting in the pew nervously looking at me. I am laughing and crying just thinking about it. I promise you she held her breath during the entire song.
I do have a point to all of this rambling, and it is this: I think too many of us live with too much self doubt. Granny knew that I realized I can't carry a tune. She was totally joking with me because she knew that I love to play and sing and am not giving it up. She watched me all those years teach myself to play those instruments, even though I knew I was not that good at any of them. Her kidding was only because she knew I loved it and would keep going!
But at the same time, I was giving in to self doubt in so many other areas of life. I had teachers telling me that I was a horrid writer, and I wanted to write more than anything. Finally, I had an English teacher that made us write a letter to all our old teachers who put self doubt in our heads. It was a freeing moment for me. I knew that I needed singing lessons, but I sang anyway, so why shouldn't I write? I can remember telling this one teacher that although she didn't think I could write, I loved it and I was going to write anyway.
I encourage all of you to journal a letter to all of those who have put self doubt in your head. You may need lessons, but if it makes you happy, then so be it because you only live once. So, until the mood strikes me to change - this blog will be "I might need singing lessons..."
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